


half a soul divided / empty sky

by snailthesaints



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Angst, Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys, Drabble, M/M, Past Character Death, Prison, Sensory Deprivation, inspired by a fic inspired by a fic im pretending i didn't write
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-11
Updated: 2016-05-11
Packaged: 2018-06-07 17:45:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6817735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snailthesaints/pseuds/snailthesaints
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Schrödinger stated that if you place a cat and something that could kill the cat (a radioactive atom) in a box and sealed it, you would not know if the cat was dead or alive until you opened the box, so that until the box was opened, the cat was (in a sense) both "dead and alive"."</p>
            </blockquote>





	half a soul divided / empty sky

**Author's Note:**

  * For [angeliclogan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/angeliclogan/gifts).
  * Inspired by [i will soon forget the colour of your eyes and you will forget mine](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6811720) by [angeliclogan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/angeliclogan/pseuds/angeliclogan). 



> for this to make sense u gotta read the shite fic i orphaned [I Can Feel Your Breath I can Feel My Death](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5386718/chapters/12441305)  
> then the amazing followup blurryalien wrote [i will soon forget the colour of your eyes and you will forget mine](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6811720)

It’s like your mind scrabbles at the edges of it’s little perception, grasping at any reality it can find.

I tell myself it’s not real, I try to stay sane, I try.

I hear the ghost of his harsh jersey accent everyday, his gentle touches dance across my skin. 

They tease me, taking the piss out of what I’ve become, as if my mind’s jibes don’t cut open my soul until I’m nearly bleeding out and I see it too - I see the crimson blood swirl through my peripheries and I leave my body too.

Because it feels like something went wrong, as the shock and the burn cut me off completely maybe it killed me instead.

Wishful thinking. Only living could hurt this bad.

I tried doing mental math, fighting my own brain, clinging to any bit of sanity I could find.

Then simply counting, but by the time I reach a hundred I’ve lost count, and lost track of the beats between every number, and time all together, because when the sun stops rising and your heart stops beating sleep and wakefulness meld together, hope and despair meld together, and the voices start screaming louder than ever.

And I scream back, putting my soul into it, because my soul’s all I’ve got now and I hate that fucker.

I scream and thrash about and sob and sob and sob, and I don’t know how it looks, or whether a muscle twitches at all, and it hurts so much because I won’t ever know and I won’t ever feel again, and I try to force my eyes open but I’ve forgotten if I even have any because I sure as hell can’t reach them.

And through the agony and the terror and the insanity, I pine for my boyfriend.

I dream about him, and in each one I’m alive and awake and I see the gleam in the honey eye’s I’d forgotten, I feel him jump on me and kiss me like I’m his only source oxygen, and I kiss back twice as hard, because trapped in my brain he is. And together we fly through the layers of my mind, and I treasure every moment of the fantasy.

Sometimes, it’s so real it’s delusional. Sometimes, I forget I was ever in a prison cell, and I _feel_ my mind deteriorating, but it feels so good, a magnetic pull, it _hurts_ to resist, and I want to let go so bad, lose reality completely.

So I keep on counting.

Because sometimes I go dizzy, sometimes my head spins and my mind clouds completely.

Other times, it doesn’t, and I realise, they forgot to take balance.

And I cling to that tighter than I clung to any other senses, because sometimes my head feels a little off, my soul lopsided, and I know something moved and I don’t know where or how, but it must've done.

And sometimes, I’m sure I’m upright and for as long as reality shifts here and there, there must be fluid in my inner ear, and my lungs must still inflate and my body must still be working even if I don’t know, and maybe I never left the prison cell at all.

And for the sake of my sanity, I choose to believe Frank hasn’t either.

He promised me, every night he’d hold onto me tight, whether I knew it or not.

He’d let my heavy head rest on his chest and he’d run his fingers through my hair, just as he always did.

He told me that a thousand times.

He’d never leave my side.

So, when the earth’s axis tilts a little, I wonder if it’s him, rocking my world like he always did.

And maybe he’s been here the whole time.

He promised me he’d hold on, and I promised I’d hold on too.

And for him, I keep on counting.


End file.
